


here's to love (here's to us)

by trustingno1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I suggested that he ask Greg," John says, "to which he replied, 'Who?'," and Greg pushes back from the table, exasperated. "I then made the mistake of suggesting his brother, to which Sherlock enumerated twenty-three reasons that that was a terrible idea."</p><p>(John's best man speech at Sherlock's wedding).</p>
            </blockquote>





	here's to love (here's to us)

**Author's Note:**

> A terrible bastardization of a kink meme [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=129543942#t129543942). Fluff doesn't even _begin_ to describe it.

  
"And now," says the master of ceremonies, clearing his throat, "the best man."  
  
John stands, with an awkward half-wave, and Greg laughs into his glass.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," John mutters, tipping his head in acknowledgement, and even Molly's trying not to smile. He glances down at his speech, then beside him, at Sherlock, who gazes back, expression inscrutable. "When Sherlock first asked me to be his best man," John says, "I was - hesitant."  
  
" _Hesitant_?" Sherlock echoes, "You said, 'You're really not understanding the role of the best man, are you, Sherlock?'."  
  
"Cheers," John deadpans, "Did you want to-?" he makes a gesture, _take over?_.  
  
Sherlock waves lazily at him to continue. "By all means, John," he says.  
  
"I suggested that he ask Greg," John says, "to which he replied, 'Who?'," and Greg pushes back from the table, exasperated. "I then made the mistake of suggesting his brother," he seeks out Mycroft in the small group (not something he'd usually bloody well do _voluntarily_ , but this is something he needs to say, needs Mycroft to hear, because Mycroft has loved Sherlock for a lifetime), "to which Sherlock enumerated twenty-three reasons that that was a terrible idea," and Mycroft actually allows his lips to twitch, just a little, as he glances over at Sherlock, who ignores him.  
  
"That was me showing restraint," Sherlock murmurs.  
  
"You've never shown restraint in your life," John teases, voice low and maybe just for him, and Sherlock's gaze is amused. "Anyway," he says, clearing his throat, "it started - if memory serves - with 'Number one. He hates weddings more than I do. Entirely possible he wouldn't show up'," and John glances back down at Sherlock before saying, a little more hesitantly, "So - cheers, Mycroft," he nods at him, "I know it means a lot to Sherlock that you came."  
  
He ignores Sherlock's, "Mmnn, no it doesn't."  
  
"Wouldn't have missed it for the _world_ , John," Mycroft says, drolly, and Greg laughs into a serviette, as he pretends to wipe his mouth.  
  
"Just - for the record," John says, hand with his speech dropping to his side for a moment, and Sherlock looks up, warily. "Number three on that list-"  
  
"Number _twenty_ -three," Sherlock mutters, and he must know what John's going to say, he must, but he doesn't make any real effort to stop him.  
  
"Number _three_ ," John repeats, "was that he wanted Mycroft to officiate the ceremony. Thanks again, by the way. Top job," and Mycroft looks like he's fighting the usual _where were you_ raised, _Dr. Watson?_ expression he tends to favour John with, and John - well. John appreciates the effort, at least. Big day, and all. "So even though he didn't ask you _himself_ ," he says, pointedly, "he really did want you - here."  
  
"No I didn't. And I was _busy_ ," Sherlock protests, irritably.  
  
"You didn't have two minutes to pick up the phone?" John mutters, turning to him, and it's a retread of an old argument they won't be settling today. He clears his throat, and continues. "Sherlock assured me that if I accepted, my duties would not extend to actually helping plan the wedding, as I'd already proven myself 'completely useless' at that," - Sherlock nods in agreement - "and that a stag night would be unnecessary. All I'd have to do was make a speech." John pauses. "He then argued that as his best friend, it was my _duty_ to be his best man."  
  
"Deep down, he was flattered," Sherlock adds, taking a sip of water, and John snorts in laughter.

"Sherlock then reminded me that he had done - in his words - an 'exemplary job' at being my best man; _I_ reminded _him_ that we finished my stag night in the drunk tank and my reception was turned into a crime scene," it's deadpan, and it gets the laugh he's hoping, and he adds, "but aside from that, he wasn't wrong." He glances down at his notes again. "Which brings us to today. So. My speech." He pauses, and scratches the back of his neck, stiff with nerves and _embarrassment_. This really isn't his thing. "Sherlock," he says, half-turning to him, "You don't have ... a lot of friends."  
  
Sherlock looks like he's mulling it over for a moment. "True," he allows, and he looks like he's going to add something, so -  
  
"It isn't easy to earn your respect," John continues, and it sounds like someone chokes on their drink in laughter (probably Greg, but possibly Stamford), and Sherlock just tilts his head in agreement, "It's even harder to earn your friendship, and your - your love," he hesitates, slightly, "Christ, it's hard enough to get your _attention_ , sometimes," and Sherlock opens his mouth, as if to protest, and, "You've not noticed I've left the _country_ , before, Sherlock," John reminds him, to gentle laughter, and Sherlock snaps his mouth shut. "So I consider it one of the highest honours to be the best friend of the world's only consulting detective."  
  
"As you should," Sherlock says, under his breath, and John laughs again, relaxing just slightly.  
  
"You are brilliant and _fantastic_ , and I know I exhausted every variation of that years ago," he says, fondly, "so I won't dwell. Because everyone _knows_ you're clever," he half-smiles, "and if they don't, you're sure to point it out," there's laughter, again, even, reluctantly, from Sherlock. "But it's - the other things. That make you the best man I'll ever meet. You are - the bravest man I know. You don't love easily, or freely, or indiscriminately, but when you _do_ , Sherlock," something catches in his throat, "you love fiercely and _loyally_." He swallows. "And although - could someone get Mrs. Hudson a new hanky? Cheers - and although you hide it well," he adds, with a small smile, "you can be incredibly selfless when it comes to the happiness of your friends.  
  
"So as your best friend," John says, with a self-conscious half-shrug, "I want you to grow old with someone who thinks that, every now and then, re-heated takeaway and bad telly can be a good night in. Someone who doesn't mind the violin at three in the morning, or body parts in the fridge if they're labelled correctly. Someone who will _always_ dance with you - be it at your own reception, or in the privacy of your living room, just because," and Molly smiles, a little wistfully, maybe, at the thought. "Someone who thinks, and will _always_ think, that you are the single most _incredible_ person he's ever met - no, seriously, does anyone have - even a spare serviette?" John says, eyeing Mrs. Hudson again and patting his suit pockets, helplessly, before finishing:  
  
"I want to see you _happy_ , to never think you're undeserving of the life you'll have, and to never worry that loving someone is somehow a _fault_ , or a weakness. I want you to grow old with the man lucky enough to be loved by _you_.  
  
"As your best man and best friend, that's what I want for you," he pauses, clears his throat, and continues, "As your husband, I promise to try, every day, to _be_ that man for you. Even if it means pulling double duty at my own bloody wedding."  
  
"I still don't see what the problem with that is," Sherlock murmurs.  
  
John rests a gentle hand high on his back, between his shoulder blades. "I know," he says, easily, and the laughter from their friends isn't unkind.  
  
Abruptly, Sherlock stands and reaches for him, kissing him, softly, repeatedly, until John pulls away, laughing.  
  
"This sounds like a scandal in the making," he teases, "snogging your best man at the reception," and Sherlock smiles, very slightly, as he straightens John's tie.  
  
"Husband," he corrects, like he's trying out the word, the back of his fingers warm against John's chest, even through his shirt.  
  
"Husband," John agrees, lifting his chin up as Sherlock catches his mouth in another, gentle kiss.

  


End file.
